


If I Was a Fool, or You a Thief

by Maker_of_Rune_Vests



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hel - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Valhalla, non-sexual parental abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maker_of_Rune_Vests/pseuds/Maker_of_Rune_Vests
Summary: "Odin was in Hel.And that was why Loki had journeyed there. He was not entirely certain why he had chosen to do so. It was, in part, because Mother wished that Odin had merited Valhalla.....He knew not whether his own mourning was a motive because he was uncertain whether said mourning existed."





	If I Was a Fool, or You a Thief

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from the song "Dynasty" by MIIA, to which this fan-video introduced me: https://youtu.be/spAM8liSghQ
> 
> This fic was inspired in part by discussion with Elly, writer of the Tumblr blog fanfic-collection.

There was more light in Hel than Loki had expected. He had thought it would be a midnight place. Indeed, when, a few days before, the grip of Thanos’s fist had lessened and the darkness had brightened, he had taken the dawning light for the first sign that he was passing to Valhalla rather than to Hel. And so he had been; mere moments later, the light had been brighter than Asgard’s sunset gold and Mother’s arms had been around him. 

 

But Odin was not in Valhalla. He had fallen without honor and without courage, drifting away as a cloud of golden sparks and unleashing Hela on his realm. Consequently, he now abode in hers: Odin was in Hel.

 

And that was why Loki had journeyed there. He was not entirely certain why he had chosen to do so. It was, in part, because Mother wished that Odin had merited Valhalla. Frigga was not skilled in magically travelling from realm to realm, nor was she given to contravening justice, or she would already have rescued him. Loki freely admitted to himself that relieving her sadness was a motive for this journey.

 

He knew not whether his own mourning was a motive because he was uncertain whether said mourning existed. If one thought of one’s father and felt both a lump in one’s throat and the pain of an old lump on one’s cheek, if one remembered both “I love you, my sons” before his death and “No, Loki,” before one’s own attempt to die--if one thought of all these things and shed tears, was that mourning?

 

Hel looked quite similar to Svartalfheim. The light was dimmed by tempestuous clouds, and the taupe plain carried on until mountains sloped up from it. Loki’s goal was between two of those slopes: the gate of Hela’s palace. Indubitably, Odin languished there. After he had imprisoned her for a thousand years, she would not permit him to be free.

 

Loki strode across the plain, incautious and untiring. Heroes of Valhalla did not tire, nor could Hela slay them or even detain them. He need not avoid her notice. He brushed his hands against shrubbery as he went; it crumbled, releasing no scent. Taupe dust lightened the toes of his black boots now and then, and slid off again of its own accord. The light quivered as the clouds moved; they were not as tempestuous as they looked, but rather storm clouds almost paralyzed.

 

The spiky gate drew nearer, dark green and slick. It looked rather as if Hela had pulled it sharply up from the earth; perhaps she had. She had certainly spent enough time in this realm to have spiked a palace up from nothing, or many palaces. Light like the edge of a green watercolor wash widened across Loki’s dark leather attire and dissipated, leaving him clad in shining golden armor and a silk cape green enough to atone for all the greenness Hel lacked. He strode towards the gate of Hela’s palace.

 

He paused abruptly, yards from the doors, for the ground was wet with red liquid pouring out from under it. It was not real blood--it could not be--and even if it had been it would not have deterred him. But it was not a pleasant sight, and he was surprised when the doors flew open with cold light and Hela stood in them. The gate was just wide enough for her headdress, still so reminiscent of rose thorns. The illusion of blood moistened her ankles, and she was smiling at him. “I wouldn’t want you to feel homesick, brother,” she murmured, gesturing at the red ripples. 

 

“I’m truly grateful, sister,” Loki deadpanned, and continued to walk toward her. He could see no resemblance to Odin in her features. To Mother--the varicolored eyes, the high bones in her cheeks--no, he would not analyze that. He still had not asked Frigga if she was Hela’s mother, or if she knew Hela had been Odin’s daughter. 

 

Hela frowned. “You are dead, but not mine.” Her eyes narrowed. “What does a Valhalla hero desire in my realm?”  

Loki smiled, lips unparted. “I seek either a nebulous cloud of golden spangles or our father...depending on whether he’s elected to coalesce.”

 

Hela stared at him for a very long moment, and then turned in a graceful, decided half spin. “If you’re enough of a fool to want him, take him,” she said over her shoulder, striding away into the palace. “I’ve requited him every pang he gave me. A few more. Several more. Now he’s a mere witless encumbrance.” They were passing black corridors, and Loki walked softly. He felt that decaying souls utterly forgotten by Those Who Sit Above in Shadow might seep from the pointed openings.  _ A witless encumbrance...what has she done to him?  _

 

Hela stopped in front of a door that rather than being filled with formless blackness was blocked by a heavy metallic door barred with nine of her spears. She pulled them out one by one, gathering them in the crook of her arm. As she did her headdress seemed to melt or perhaps to reamalgamate itself with her, leaving her black hair flowing down her back. 

 

“Why do you  _ truly _ seek his liberation?” she asked, drawing out another spike. “I’ve read all his memories. You were a pawn. Is this for your mother? A little repayment for all the grovelling she did to save you?” 

 

The next spike scraped against the door like a fingernail against a fetter. 

 

“Would that not be reason enough?” A question for a question. Had she grovelled? He knew she had pleaded. Loki tilted his head, hands folding. “Why are you  _ truly _ willing to release him? I know his mark. Perhaps he proves an encumbrance because the sight of him pains you...sister.”  

 

Hela ripped out the next spike so hard that a sound like a gong echoed down the corridor, and then she laughed. “I never would have guessed you’re so naive.” She ripped out the last spikes as if she were a machine invented to remove the bars of doors, and turned, dropping the bundle of iron spikes into Loki’s arms. One more would have made him stagger. She reached out a cold hand and lifted his chin, either malice or tears glittering in her eyes. “Consider his presence my last injury to you glorious dead.” She took a long step backward. The dark wall behind her melted into green smoke, and she stepped into it and disappeared.

 

Loki set all but one of the spikes down against the wall, keeping one to use as a spear in case Hela had imprisoned Odin with Fenris or a giant serpent or something of that ilk. He pushed on the door.

 

It swung open smoothly; either Hela often visited Odin, or hinges did not rust in Hel. Green smoke billowed out; clearly the room was full of it. Loki plunged into the green chaos. It swirled and swirled around him and above him, looking black instead of green, and at first he thought this space was lightless. Then his eyes adjusted, and he saw the swirls above him let a little light through, just enough to show that they were green--and to show that a man floated above him. Odin. 

 

What spell was holding him? Loki raised his hand, willing the spells in the room to appear, and lines of green light appeared, from which Odin hung precisely as a puppet would hang from strings. The glow lit Odin’s dirty face and tattered white robe; there was no hope in his expression. 

 

Loki raised his other hand, frowning as he stared up through the mist, and then lowered both hands, very slowly. The spell-ropes lengthened, a few inches every few moments, until Odin crumpled onto the floor. Loki walked towards him. He wanted to lift him to his feet and bring him into the light, and see him once again grave and filled with the Odinforce, or whatever echo of it he would harbor in Valhalla. He wanted to leave him here, on his face under the verdant smoke, unconsoled. When he was so close that the light was unnecessary, Loki flung his hands out to his sides and the green ropes snapped and dissipated. 

 

Odin groaned and lifted his head. “My son?” he rasped, and Loki was about to say “Yes,” when Odin added, “Thor?”

 

“Loki, actually,” Loki said. His voice was even colder than he intended it to be. “Were Thor aware of the path to Hel, able to snap magic chains, and dead, possibly he’d have bothered to accompany me.” 

 

He heaved Odin to his feet, and then froze as Odin all but collapsed against him, clutching him. It was a long second before Loki realized that this was an exhausted hug--perhaps no more love-caused than a hug given by a shipwrecked person to buoyant board, but an intentional embrace. He did not move a muscle until he felt Odin begin to shake, and realized the ancient god was sobbing into his chest. 

 

Odin did not cry. Odin raged, Odin praised, Odin punished, Odin struck, Odin judged. Odin did not sob his heart out, and between the shock of his doing so and the comprehension that Hela must have wreaked torments on him equal to or greater than the worst pains Loki could remember, Loki found himself returning the sole embrace Odin had given him in more than a millennium, tears filling his eyes.

 

“Let’s depart,” he said after a moment, stepping back and blinking. He offered Odin his arm, and Odin leaned heavily on it as they walked through the green smoke, back toward the door. 

 

Odin was silent, head drooping. He raised it when they exited the room, trailing smoke behind them. “Are we bound for Valhalla? You cannot contradict justice, Loki.” 

 

Loki raised an eyebrow, continuing to lead Odin toward the gate of Hela’s palace. “Shall I leave you to wander your daughter’s palace? Or to roam the stark plain before it?” 

 

Odin said nothing and stared down the corridor. Loki laughed mirthlessly. “I watched you contradict judgement for a thousand years, and impersonation is my hallmark.”

 

There was a long silence, long enough that the gate of Hela’s palace rose before them. Loki’s eyes were dry now; he might have pulled his arm away had Odin been a touch less frail. 

 

When Odin leaned toward him and patted his hand, he flinched. “I did not teach you injustice, my boy, whatever my failings in your training. But I am glad to own I taught you loyalty.” Odin’s voice already had become royal, fatherly, priggish, theoretically kind. “I am proud that you came so far for me. It’s an honorable repayment for my rescue of you from the gelid plain.”

 

“Wasn’t it a frozen rock?” Loki asked innocently, and Odin took his turn at flinching. They walked through the gates in silence deep enough that they heard every husky leaf crunch under their feet as they walked into the shrubbery.

 

“I thought I would rest in Valhalla,” Odin said, and his tone was too tired to be starchy. He leaned more heavily on Loki’s arm. “I failed in bravery, it seems. I reckoned that I could not fall to Hel.”

 

“I apprehended that I could not rise to Valhalla,” Loki counterpointed. He looked down at Odin and saw that his head was drooping. He had been surprised when he had realized that Odin was a handbreadth or more shorter than himself; the difference had been thus for centuries, yet he had not pondered it until he was in chains and muzzled, and Odin was glaring up at him….“Nevertheless--we both shall rest there.”

 

Odin nodded, and sighed. Leaves fell as his free hand dragged through the dry shrubs. They were not far from the portal to Valhalla now. “Do you not fear my presence will sour your rest, my son?” he asked dryly.

 

Loki stopped walking for a heartbeat. Hel was remarkably quiet, quieter than a library, quieter than Jotunheim, quieter than anything save the abyss of space. “I’m either a fool, or merciful,” he said succinctly, and led Odin on.

 

Odin breathed the first self-deprecating laugh of his death, let alone of his life. “I taught you to think those synonymous.”

 

Loki raised his left hand, and a portal of golden light burgeoned before them. He smiled. “Fortunately, I’ve elected to favor Mother’s definitions.” 


End file.
